Month: July 2017

Yes I know, I have to get back to work eventually but for THIRTY days I AM FREE.

THIRTY FREE DAYS.

I imagine you’re wondering if it’s really necessary to use the caps lock this much but I can assure you: IT IS. Same goes for repeating myself.

Very necessary. (because thirty days).

Sunday we’re leaving for Bretagne and I fully intend to capture the surroundings on my Instagram account. Of course I’m also planning to read books (two of them being: Strange the Dreamer & A Gathering of Shadows) and I’m bringing my laptop and notebook for some writing.

But mostly I’m going to relax, ponder ridiculous story ideas and enjoy time with my family

(Read: try not to worry too much about the kids eating/drinking/sleeping enough and make sure they don’t get stung by creepy insects or jelly fish. I’m probably also going to apply gallons of sunscreen on them).

And after the French break, comes the Spanish one.

Because I’m also going to Fuerteventura for a week of reading books, pondering ideas, writing stuff. And to learn how to surf.

Like this:

Big Fish, Prince of Mist, The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, The Shadow of the Wind are amongst my all time favorite reads.

The feel of the extraordinary captured within the frames of reality (or sometimes just outside its boundaries) is what I often try to achieve in my writing.

When brainstorming these stories or wondering about one of its characters I’m in a particular mood. A mood wherein magic is more real, more tangible. If I was to describe this mood (and obviously I’m going to because I would be a pretty lousy writer if I didn’t try)

I would describe this like:

Having two glasses of wine on an empty stomach, being happy on a superficial level and wondering what would happen if #insert-idea-that-could-be-real-if-a-little-magic-sipped-through-from-another-dimension

(what if: you could sell your dreams but the cost is nightmares/ your father is the sea/you can control insects/there’s a ghost living in the garden shed/the statue on the town square cries every evening at eleven).

Maybe I drink too much (wine: preferably temperanillo/rioja or a really cold pinot grigio when the sun is shining).

Like this:

I know you’re supposed to be in the possession of a highly polished version of your novel, before you start thinking about your query letter. Let alone write one.

BUT I JUST CAN’T HELP MYSELF.

It’s fun.

For me it’s something to work on when I get stuck editing or writing. And when a sentence captures the feel of my story, I copy/paste it in a separate document I keep to tinker with my query letter. Appropriately named: Document 3, which is a pretty lame title if you consider making up titles is peering down at the top regions of my What-I-Love-About-Writing- List.

Anyway.. In earlier stages this process showed me how thin my plot was. Or that my plot was transparent (sounds better than invisible, don’t you agree?).

Maybe I’ve a weird process but it makes me understand my story better. I’m learning to write a more cohesive pitch and to be specific.

Nodark forces that gatherbutthree highly gifted sorcerers who feed on the pain of others meet and plan to kill all the people in an elderly home.

Nomore plan to kill butthey inject all the residents with high dose insulin (no magic needed. Told you they were highly gifted).

Notragic eventbutAll residents, except one, die. A 93 year-old lady who stole and ate all the candy in the Home survived.

Noworst nightmarebutthe Sematary from King’s Pet Sematary is real and they just sold the plot to create a burial place for children.

But I’m slacking on the writing-blog-posts-part, so here it is: a July post 🙂

It’s nothing more than a short update on what I’m doing but still. I wrote it. (Maybe I can add the words to my daily nano count #cheaterthatIam)

I’m doing Campnano again. And having fun with a new story about a telepathic connection between a brother (who paints in only one color, either blue or red) and sister ( a barista who can make awesome Latte art but HATES milk, because the memory that clings to it rips her soul apart).

I guess the new story is also about coffee. Because I like coffee.

AND I am editing the previous story, which is turning into something that might actually be worth reading. I stumble upon sentences I don’t really remember writing and some are actually quite suprising. In a good way. Sometimes I feel almost proud of what I’ve written. And I’m not a person who finds it easy to be proud of her achievements. I’m terrible at writing descriptions, but some of them might work. Like this one:

The rain was washing away the remains of the day, clearing the city like an etch and sketch. The streets were shimmering and the air smelled like earth. Jenya loved this hour of night. Tourists were nowhere to be seen, the streets almost empty. The rain turned into a soft drizzle, making soft thudding sounds, indifferent of the surfaces it fell on. A couple hurried by, giggling and trying to balance an umbrella between the two of them. Jenya thought about rain, how it had made her feel warm and safe when she was younger, lying on her bed listening to it tapping the windows

The last six years she hadn’t felt safe at all, and when her window was tapped upon it was normally something that came straight from a nightmare.

I’m still really (really , really, really) insecure. And a lot of times I tell myself not so optimistic things (why are you doing this/ this is not going to work/ why?/ all that time typing and stringing words together/ nobody is going to read or like your work/ etcetera). My inner editor (Pie is her name) still points out why things are not working, but hours go by where she’s just quiet. Maybe there is a muse and maybe he’s holding her hostage. Who knows?

I’m calling my muse Kip, because Kip is a cool name and sounds like a person who likes coffee. Kip and I are going to be friends.